


Changes

by eldee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, actual wolf werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldee/pseuds/eldee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Beacon Hills with no Hales or Argents, there's still a teen wolf and his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted as a 750 word ficlet for LJ's @Mating_Games challenge in the spring. Due to all the feelings of episode 3.06, I went back to it to expand and post.
> 
> Original challenge was to pick a quote about werewolves and use it as inspiration. This is inspired by: _“I spoke to Giles. He says I'll be okay, I just have to lock myself up around the full moon - only he used more words than that - and a globe.”_ \-- Oz the werewolf, Buffy The Vampire Slayer

It starts with a wolf bite.

\-- Well, no, Scott and Stiles' friendship started way before then, back in third grade after an incident with a worm, a Fruit Roll-Up, and a very upset substitute teacher --

But the change starts with a wolf bite.

It changes a lot of things.

**

"Deaton knows what I am," Scott announces. 

In Stiles' opinion, it's a pretty ballsy topic to bring up while lost in a crowd of students as they walk up to the high school, because it's a pretty weird thing that's happening to his best friend, and not everyone is as understanding as Stiles. Then again, it's not like anyone pays much attention to Scott and Stiles anyway.

Therefore, he has no problem pressing for more information. Stiles stops in spot as he spins to stare at Scott. " _What_? How'd he know? What does he know? What'd he _tell_ you?"

Scott laughs. He looks way too happy for a guy that was bitten by a wolf two weeks before. "There used to be a werewolf pack who lived around here a while ago but --" Scott frowns, eyes moving back and forth as he goes over in his head a conversation he had with Deaton that Stiles wasn't there for.

Which is annoying, and Stiles is impatient. "But _what_?"

"Something happened and they're gone now." Scott runs a hand through his shaggy hair and lifts one shoulder in a partial shrug. "No real wolves in the area. No werewolves left either."

"Then what the hell happened to you?"

"He thinks it was some random werewolf dude passing through on the full moon who accidently bit me, then took off."

"Somehow I doubt that's the exact explanation he used," Stiles says dryly. It's the least shocking thing to hear that Scott's boss is cryptic, and now that the revelation has sunk in, it's even less shocking that Deaton knows what the heck is up. Stiles turns and starts back towards the school, falling into slow step beside Scott.

"Close enough to what he said," Scott says. Stiles makes a mental note to talk to Deaton about it later. "Whoever it was, they're not here anymore. And that's pretty much that."

"So, what, this random werewolf dude bit an unsuspecting teenager and then, like, didn't stick around to teach you how to control your claws so you don't end up ripping Mr. Harris' stupid face to shreds?"

"Stiles. I haven't done that. I haven't even attempted to do that."

"Well you _should_. I would," Stiles says under his breath. "But whatever. Whoever did this to you and then just _left_ is a douchnozzle."

"Right?" Scott rolls his eyes. "Deaton explained it to me -- basically, I should lock myself up during the full moon, because I'm going to be fully transformed."

"Fully transformed?" Stiles' interest is piqued. "What does that mean?"

Scott looks around, the swell of students becoming thicker the closer to the school they get, and he drops his voice. "Full-on wolf."

" _Dude_."

Scott's grin is impossibly wide. "Right?"

"Not any of this hairy face and weird forehead stuff? An actual wolf?"

"Apparently."

"Why the difference?"

"Something about--" Scott gestures at the sky "--the moon's powers and stuff. He was kinda vague in his explanation--"

"Shocking."

"--then he said I could use one of the large kennels if I need." Stiles gives him a look but Scott doesn't look concerned about it. "Just to make sure I don't run loose or whatever."

"Okay then. That's not too bad. So on the full moon we just have to keep you safe."

Scott smiles at Stiles fondly. "I think it's to keep everyone else safe."

"Right. Other people." Stiles shrugs and throws his arm around Scott's shoulders. "You are going to be such a kick ass wolf, man."

Scott beams.

**

"You may not want to be here," Deaton says. Scott is locked up in a large kennel, naked, hunched over in the middle of it and breathing heavily.

Stiles ignores him. "Scott? Okay in there, buddy?"

Scott grunts, and then sounds like he's going to throw up. "Not really feeling that kick ass."

"You'll be fine." Stiles turns to Deaton. "Right? You said he'd be fine."

"This will be difficult for him, but for you too. Perhaps if you step outside for a while--"

"No." Stiles doesn't care what he sees -- he's seen someone go through worse, and much more slowly -- and there is no way he's letting Scott go through this alone. "I'm not leaving him."

Deaton looks at Stiles evenly, his gaze betraying nothing, but eventually nods and doesn't suggest Stiles leave again.

It's not too long before the sun is gone and moonbeams stream through the window, marking across the floor.

Scott whimpers, his fingers digging into his hair like he wants to tear it out. His muscles start to twitch, and then his whole body convulses. He's muffling his screams, trying to keep them in.

Stiles' own breathing becomes more difficult, and his heart breaks at hearing Scott in such pain. But he does what he can to tramp down his panic, because if Scott can remain that strong then so can Stiles.

It's horrifying to watch; Scott's skin peels away as fur appears, hands turning into large paws, face morphing into a snout with long, sharp teeth. The pained grunts turn into low growls.

Until finally it's done.

Left in the cage is a large black wolf -- four legs, body of fur, the whole bit. Deaton moves towards him; Scott growls low in his throat, snapping in Deaton's direction. Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin, and then he rolls his eyes angrily -- at Scott for startling him or at himself for being startled, he's not sure.

"Oh my god, Scott, don't be a dick," Stiles says, getting closer.

Scott notices Stiles and immediately whines sadly. He paws at the cage, as if trying to get out but not like he's going to attack.

"Hey." Stiles kneels down, the metal bars separating them. He sits out of reach, but Stiles isn't afraid. Wolf or not, this is his best friend. "Hey, Scott. It's just me. Just Stiles."

And the thing is, Scott _knows_ it's Stiles. He's got to. He's not angry, not snapping and growling. Instead, he tries to lick Stiles through the bars of the cage.

"Interesting," Deaton says.

"What?"

Deaton smiles. "I will tell you both at a better time."

"Of course you will," Stiles mutters. He rolls his eyes.

He swears, if wolves could grin, Scott would be right then. Instead he lays his head down on his paws, watching Stiles with his tongue lolled out of his mouth while he pants. Stiles points a thumb over his shoulder. "This guy, right?"

Scott gives a cut-off bark, glances at Deaton, and hides his nose under his paws. Stiles laughs, because that's so like Scott, chuckling at one of Stiles' jokes but ducking his head sheepishly like he knows he shouldn't encourage it.

"Are you sure we can't let him out?" Stiles asks, not taking his eyes off Scott.

"We talked about this," Deaton answers. "It isn't wise, not this first time. Maybe not for a while. He needs to learn how to keep control."

"He looks perfectly in control," Stiles points out, glancing over at Deaton.

Deaton gives a small smile. "Now, yes. But remove you from the equation, and where would Scott be then?"

Stiles shrugs and looks back at Scott. It's a stupid question. There is no removing him from the equation.

With that, Deaton vacates the room, leaving Stiles to sit with Scott-the-wolf through the night.

**

"You're sure you're okay?"

Stiles lingers in Scott's room the morning after the moon. Scott is obviously tired, but extremely jittery, like he’s nervous. It makes sense, given what just happened -- because, you know, being turned into a wolf because of the moon has got to be freaking weird -- but something's off. "Dude, what is it?"

"It's just -- I _knew_ you."

Stiles blinks at him. "Of course you did. Dude, I'm _me_."

"Yeah, but … nothing made sense at first, when I changed. The smells, why I was locked up, Deaton -- but then there was you."

"I'm your oldest friend, Scott," Stiles says, trying to shrug it off. His heart is speeding up, and he really wishes it wasn't, because he knows that Scott can hear it now. 

"You kept me sane, kept me from feeling completely like an animal."

"Because you're not one, idiot." Stiles pats his shoulder. "You're just a wolf."

"See? Right there -- you've been -- you're just so--" Scott gestures helplessly, like he always does when he's frustrated that he can't explain. After a moment of staring at Stiles, there's clarity on his face. Stiles knows he's figured out how to say it.

Except he doesn't _say_ anything. Scott leans in and kisses him.

Stiles makes a surprised noise, but Scott doesn't relent. It's a simple kiss, almost chaste, but Scott presses his lips firmly against Stiles', leaving no room to mistake that he's meaning to do it.

Stiles pulls away first, and he stares at Scott. Scott's cheeks are a little flushed, like he used to get when his asthma was acting up and he had trouble breathing. That doesn't make sense right now because it isn't a problem for Scott anymore. It means -- but can it really mean?

"Scott?" Stiles asks uncertainly. He flexes his fingers around Scott's bicep and, wait, how did his hand even get there? He doesn't want to let go. "I don't -- man, I didn't think -- I mean, we're friends and you don't, not like that--"

"After I was bit, sometimes you looked at me when you thought I wouldn't notice, but I did. I could tell. That you, you know. Stiles, I _know_."

"Oh my god." Stiles groans, embarrassed, and moves to step away. He stops when Scott's hand shoots out and grabs his hip. Stiles freezes in place.

"You never told me." Scott doesn't sound accusing, or hurt, or disgusted. Just stupidly honest and open like he can be.

"I didn't want to mess things up."

"You wouldn't have," Scott says supportively.

"Um, yep, I really could've," Stiles says shortly. It's an argument he's had with himself all too often. He tries to pull back again but Scott grabs his hand and isn't having any of it. "See? I'm already doing it."

"No, you're not," Scott says, smiling softly. "I'm the one who kissed you."

"Oh. Right. So about that? Any explanation? Because I really think you should explain so that I don't have to, like, crawl under a rock and die right about now."

Scott grins for a second, but then turns appropriately serious, which throws Stiles off a little bit because he's not always good with that either. "When I noticed you noticing, it made me think. No, wait -- it made me realize."

When he leaves it off there, Stiles is quiet for a moment before he gestures emphatically for an explanation. "Realize?"

"Yep. Realize."

There is no way that Scott could possibly miss the pounding of Stiles' heart now. Stiles swallows hard and asks, "Made you realize what?"

Scott only grins wide, that wildly happy one that Stiles loves being the reason for, and he pushes Stiles to the bed; Stiles goes easily because he can't _not_.

It's all fumbling and uncoordinated, because neither of them has a whole lot of experience with this, but they know each other so well that at least they know that. There are hands everywhere, elbows giving sharp jabs, teeth clacking together. Scott laughs against Stiles' mouth more than once, lips vibrating with pure happiness.

It's so fucking perfect Stiles can't believe it.

They end up finally finding a rhythm with kissing -- wet, slick, wonderful -- while grinding their still-clothed bodies together. Stiles doesn't even get his hand on a dick, or get one on his, before he's coming in his pants. It should be embarrassing but it's not because it's with Scott, who has heard in detail all the wet dream wake up stories Stiles has. This is a million times better, because it's real and it's Scott.

Scott doesn't say anything, just holds Stiles close while he trembles. He sniffs the air and growls, which startles Stiles into a laugh against Scott's neck. Scott's laugh is an echo, and he ruts down hard, shuddering, and comes in his shorts too.

They're in a boneless sprawl of interlocking limbs across the bed, trying to catch their breaths. Well, Stiles is, because that comes easily to Scott these days, but they're lost in a moment of quiet. That, however, doesn't come easily for Stiles ever and his mind won't stop going in circles: what if Scott hadn't _really_ meant … what if it makes things weird – well, weird _er_ … what if --

"Stiles," Scott says, "I'm really glad I realized."

Stiles' panic settles in an instant. He doesn't think Scott even knows that's what he's doing, is always able to do, but he does it all the same.

"Yeah," Stiles says, keeping it simple, "me too."


End file.
